Ecstasy of Gold
by Random.Reviewer89
Summary: What is more important: the value of money or the value of friends? - Rated: T for: Violence, Language, and Suggestive Themes.


_Please read the author's note at the end, Thank you!_

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**Ecstasy of Gold**

**Chapter #1 - Rust**

A clatter of heeled shoes echoed down the high arched hallway. The swift flash of wavy yellow hair signaled the approached of the clamorous sounds like trumpets on a high mountain. Singled out and alone, the yellow haired young woman sprinted around corners of the school, Beacon Academy. She pumped her arms madly as her legs carried her across the glossy tiled floor. Her hair was frayed in every direction, uncombed and unkempt from the night before, bedhead from her soft pillow. Running her wrist on the side of her mouth this girl, known by her friends, enemies, and acquaintances alike as Yang, wiped away some dried morning drool. Yang had a habit of sleeping with her mouth open…

"Gonna be late! Gonna be late! Gonna be late!" She repeated to herself as she panted like a dog, sprinting around the corner towards her classroom. She used her free hand to adjust her clothing that was strangely off center. Her school uniform was hastily put on, a consequence of her unfortunate situation, oversleeping. "Why didn't they wake me?!"

Yang peeled around the corner and sprinted full force in the direction of Professor Port's classroom. Eyes wide with thoughts of some sort of detention or punishment, the young woman didn't even see the faint blur of a black and white figure stepping daintily down the hallway…Yang didn't even notice the girl's presence until both figures collided in a whirlwind of color, hair, and body parts…Barreling into the other student, Yang knocked her off her feet. A hard covered book flew into the air. Even Yang herself didn't fare so well, tripping over the other body-mass and landing flat on her face, skidding to a halt a few feet away.

Purple eyes rolled around, dazed in Yang's skull. It took her a few moments to become fully aware of the situation that had just unfolded in her sprint to class. Rolling to her hands and knees, Yang pushed herself up and cranked her head backward. She had to yank away some of her golden bangs from her eyes. There, lying in a heap behind her was a familiar figure, Blake, her partner. "B-Blake?!" Yang chirped in her well-known upbeat sounding voice.

Shifting to a sitting position on the tiled floor, Blake turned towards Yang, glancing at her in a sort of perplexed fashion with pursed lips and a dash of astonishment. "Well…" Blake began as she gripped her book that had fallen just beside her, pulling it towards her chest as she continued to eye her yellow haired teammate. "…Good morning to you as well."

Yang pushed herself to a standing position, swiftly holding out a hand toward Blake which her partner promptly took. Swiftly pulling Blake back to her feet, Yang quickly went about dusting herself off, an action shared by the black hair young woman. "Sorry, about that, Blake!" Yang chuckled halfheartedly, ruffling the back of her yellow hair in embarrassment. "I was afraid I was going to be late for…" Yang words trailed off as she opened her eyes again to see Blake giving her a rather calculating, yet friendly look.

"Class?" Blake purred with a bit of amusement as she glanced Yang up and down, noticing her school uniform, the same of which that Blake had, but was not wearing.

Scratching the back of her head, Yang nodded faintly. It was only then she noticed something was off. Blake wasn't dressed for class. That and not a single soul was in the hallway. Yang's smile slowly faded into a curious look as she let her eyes looked upon Blake's common black and a white outfit. "…Y-Yeah, I thought I over slept, Ha!"

"Right…" Blake mumbled again, this time her eyes returned to the book she held in her hands, seemingly having the page she was on memorized as she swiftly turned back to the exact page, paragraph, and sentence.

Yang fidgeted a bit as the awkward aura of the conversation began to creep up her spine. Something here was truly amiss; Blake was not dressed for class, while Yang on the other hand was. "Say, Blake?"

Blake looked up over the pages of her rather lengthy novel and eyed Yang once again. "Hmm?"

"Er…" Yang continued to ruffle her hair rather aimlessly. She managed an embarrassed, silly, and confused smile toward her partner before she asked her question. "…Why aren't you dressed for class?"

"It's Saturday, Yang." Blake spoke rather bluntly as her eyes darted back to her book. "We never have class on Saturdays." She looked up again, this time with a tiny, joking smirk of her own. "Although, I'm sure one of the professors would certainly love to assign you extra coursework if you asked nicely on a Saturday."

The blonde swiftly slouched over. What a relief it was! It was Saturday, that explained everything! Yang heaved out comically and threw her arms in the air as if signaling some great victory. Her yellow hair flew about as she turned her body from side to side, puffing out her chest like a dominant ape.

Looking on at her partner's antics, Blake's eyes darted between the words on the page and Yang rather distracting actions. Yet, the young black haired woman could help but laugh under her breath with a closed mouth.

"Woo! That sure is a relief, huh?" Yang laughed closing her purple eyes as her head tilted towards the ceiling, still savoring the odd victory of waking up on a Saturday and discovering that, as always, she had no class.

Blake faintly shook her head from side to side. "I guess so." Her mind quickly returned to her story, flipping the page with a single finger.

Breathing one final sigh of relief, Yang walked up the Blake's side and draped an arm around her partner. "Say, Blake?" She asked cheerfully, taking a couple steps forward, yanking Blake right along with her.

Grunting from the arm on her shoulder, Blake eyed Yang from the corners of her eyes. "Y-Yes, Yang?" She growled back, sounding somewhat annoyed.

Yang continued to drag Blake along in the direction of the dorm room, presumably to get changed out of her uniform and back into her usual attire. "Weiss and Ruby, you have any idea where those two might be? Since it's a Saturday and all, I wonder if you have any idea where they ran off to. That is, if they went together." Yang chuckled again, knowing about how both Ruby's and Weiss' personalities can sometimes clash.

Blake rolled her eyes to the page once again. "They went into town to purchase winter clothing…Well, I should say Ruby pulled Weiss along with her." Multitasking like a champion, Blake continued to read, speak, and walk all at the same time. "While you were off snoring, I overheard Ruby mention that she had forgotten any sort of heavy winter clothing. She seem quite adamant about buying some today on our day off."

Yang glanced outside, through the massive window and out onto Beacon campus. The sky was painted a hazy grey in color, the autumn winds rushing through the tree, pulling the few leaves that were unlucky enough to fall along with it. "That does sound a lot like Ruby, I suppose. She's never had the greatest memory when it comes to bringing that sort of stuff along."

The pair rounded a corner and continued toward the section of the dorm where their room was located. "Weiss didn't complain though." Blake chirped up with a rare sly smirk.

"Oh yeah?"

Blake nodded and pulled her nose out of the pages. "I guess the concept of shopping hit one of Weiss' soft spots. I've never seen her more eager to get out the school, even if it was with Ruby. That girl must have some money in her pocket she's itching to spend."

"Maybe those two are going to buy pants for once?" Yang joked, slapping her leg in a self-serving manner. "What I would give to see Weiss where actual pants instead of the "battle skirt" or whatever she calls it now. I'd give anything to go see them right now about. Lord knows how Ruby is holding up with Weiss."

Giggling silently, Blake tucked her novel under her arm. "I suppose you'd like to see them, hmm?"

Yang turned her head down to see Blake glancing back toward her. "I'm just saying…It's an option, Blake." She gleefully poked her partner in a friendly manner.

Rolling her eyes and adjusting her black bow with her left hand, making it so that it sat perfectly on her head, Blake finally shrugged. "Sure, why not. It'd give me a chance to buy some food for myself. I've ran out of canned tuna, I could stock up again before it snows." Blake decided to press a few of the more sensitive group issue, just to make Yang a little uncomfortable in payment for ruining her peaceful afternoon of reading.

Yang's laughter slowly faded as they reached the door to their room. "Y-Yeah…Tuna…Right…" She brushed some of her yellow hair behind her ears and entered the room.

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_Somewhere in the desert…_

The jingling of spurs and the tap of boots an old wooden floor filled the saloon building as a new body pushed through the old swinging doors. A bit of sand and dust followed the body, like an anger filled ghost leaving a trail behind a killer. Silver spurs connects to the heels of this figures cowboy-styled boots click and clanked like the ringing of tiny strange bells. It was an odd figure, this male was. He walked rather lazily, shoulders and head slouched forward, and face tilted towards the creaking wooden planks below. His eyes, hidden beneath his raggedy hat were locked towards the corner of the room where a shadowed figure stared right back.

As he walked, a rust colored duster flowed behind him, little grains of sand rolling off the leather and onto the ground. He had a deep red bandana pulled up around his mouth and to the bridge of his nose. The cloth went back and forth as this young man breathed in the dry desert air that permeated the saloon. His eyes pulled away from the figure that eyed him as he arrived at the hardwood bar on the far side of the room.

The barkeep, noticing and recognizing this young man, stopped his constant polishing of glassware. Placing the glass down amongst its brothers and sisters, the older gentleman strode toward the cowboy-esque figure as he took a seat at his bar. The barkeep too glanced about the room, seemingly shoved into a different mindset at this newcomer into his place of business. And just like the young man, he eyed the man standing in the dark corner of the room, eyes still locked upon the younger patron.

Standing there against the bar for a moment until the barkeep was close in distance, the young man with the rust colored duster hauled himself lazily onto a nearby stool. His body slouched forward and his elbows rested without manners on the countertop. Moving his hand to the top of his head, the boy removed his hat which shared the same color as his tattered long coat. A mess of brown hair fell about the young man's head, reaching down to the tops of his ears, uncombed and unkempt. It took a few moments, but the boy soon pulled his bandana away from his mouth, letting out a long dry sigh of weariness.

"Long time no see, kid." The barkeep murmured with a long chuckle. He picked up another glass and began to shine it with the off-white rag her still held in his hand. Interestingly, the clear glass was already clean. This action by the barkeep was a ploy directed towards the shadowed figure in the rear of the room. "Can I get you a drink?"

Posture stooping lower, the younger man shook his head, but rubbed the bridge of his nose before speaking with a thick drawl. "I…I need a fix…" He mumbled as his eyes shut rather painfully and wearily. "…You got what I need?"

The barkeep gave a silent chuckle before looking about the room again, lowering his voice so no others would hear. "_You_ of all people should know I'm always stocked up with that sort of thing." He continued to clean the already crystal clear glass. The smirk grew wider on his mouth.

Opening his light brown eyes, the younger man peered up with a pleading gaze. "Come on then…I don't have all day." His head cocked down to the hardwood counter again and he let out a breath, extending his open right hand towards the barkeep.

Letting out a faint sigh, the barkeep motioned with one hand. "Yeah, sure…Give me a moment." Leaning down, he began to rummage beneath the bar top. His hands pushed aside jars and bottles of drink and tonic until finally, a small brown paper bag emerged that had been stashed in the back. Reaching forward, it was only second before the barkeep placed the paper bag on the counter in front of the young man. "I only get the best for you." He chuckled, ripping open the bag's seal.

Still, the young man stayed mostly silent. But his fingers talked for him. With a palm opened towards the ceiling, the man with the duster practically begged for whatever was in the brown paper sack.

"You don't know how hard it is to get this sort of thing down here, kid." The bartender muttered lightheartedly, plunging his hand into the sack and placing a small wrapped item in the younger man's hand. "Consider yourself lucky. If I didn't owe you, I'd charge you for this crap. You ain't any normal customer, you hear?"

There was a heavy tension in the air as the brown hair man retracted his hand, holding tightly the item within. Pulling it off the counter and into his lap, the young man spoke soft words. "You know…" He began as he started to unwrap the plastic. His head slowly tilting upwards until a bright smile appeared to greet the other man. "…You're one hell of a barkeep!" Breaking into joyful laughter, the man with the duster plunged a candy sucker into his mouth, gripping it with his back teeth. "Caramel and apple, hot damn you know my favorite!"

All the heavy air in the room vanished all at once as the young man's chuckles sounded. The barkeep, leaning over the counter towards his friend extended a hand. "Damn it, Rusty! I thought you'd never come back and visit me. Got my message, eh?"

Rusty, the younger man with the duster, took the hand and shook it happily. He still sucked on the piece of candy on a stick he held with his back molars. "Come on, Davy. You thought I'd never come back and see you know, huh?" His posture started to straighten up as his gimmick faded away.

"Hey, word had it that you up and vanished but three months ago. Poor me thought you went and got yourself shot up full 'o holes!" The barkeep retracted his hand, patting Rusty briefly on the head like he was a child of his own.

Shrugging happily, Rusty removed the sucker from his mouth and pointed it accusingly toward his friend. "What can I say? Money was good three months ago. Why go looking to get yourself shot when the cash is flowing? Hell, you should know, you gave me that job." He leaned back down onto the counter and stuck the sucker back in his mouth, switching it to the other cheek. No longer was his posture slouched forward, instead his head was perked upward and attentive.

Davy rolled his eyes and let out a soft groan. "Kid, you got a lot of nerve. You keep selling yourself as a gun and sooner or later you'll get yourself six feet down in the dirt…" He glanced about the room, making sure no one else was listening in too keenly on their conversation. "…Pity, they had schools for kids like you. Don't tell me you never applied? How bloody old are you now anyway?"

This particular subject made Rusty slouch a little. "Oh, I applied alright…I guess they just never thought a kid from the backcountry with a rusted old piece was good enough for that high and mighty school of theirs. And I'm eighteen thank you very much." His hand went to his belt and clutched an old rusted revolver. "Besides, there ain't any person in this dusty world that'll pry Iron Ace from me!" Removing his gun from the holster that sat offset on his right hip, Rusty held his weapon by barrel towards the bartender, urging him to take the rusted piece of metal.

Gripping the unloaded weapon by the wooden handle, Davy held the old weapon in his palms. Beneath and between the spots of brown-orange rust was the black iron metal that gave the weapon its namesake. It had a hefty weight to it; the longer than average barrel and thick iron metal made it look like it came right out from an old western movie…Pausing for a moment, the barkeep flipped the revolver in his hands and held the handle back towards its owner. "This this looks like its seen better days, Rusty. It'll blow your hand off one day, mark my words, kid."

"_She_…" Rusty huffed as he grabbed the weapon, sliding it rather swiftly back into the holster on his hip. "…is still in her prime."

Davy went back to shining the already clean glass. "So it's a she now, huh?" He chuckled, eyeballing Rusty rather comically. "Iron Ace sure is a dandy name for a lady."

"Oh hush up, you!" He huffed again, rolling his eyes and switching the sucker into the other cheek, savoring the flavor. Now it was Rusty who glanced around nervously. His tone shifted into a darker one, his volume decreased, and he inched forward across the counter. "So…What's this job you have lined up?"

The barkeep's eye opened a little wider and he once more glanced to the dark figure in the back of the room before returning to the young man at the counter. "Yes, I have something for you, a job, up in Vale."

Rusty seemingly choked one on his sucker and blinked. "Vale, all the way up there?"

Sighing, Davy leaned a little further down to Rusty, looking him dead in the eye for a good long moment before speaking. "It's a once in a lifetime job, kid…Something you'd possibly be quite akin to."

Looking over both of his shoulders, Rusty leaned forward across the countertop a little more. "And?"

Reaching below the counter, the bartender pulled out a small folded photo, sliding it secretly across the counter toward his young associate. "I know this sort of thing isn't usual up your alley, but I figure you might as well take a look."

Pausing for a moment, Rusty lifted his arm and used his fingers to unfold the photo, holding it against the counter so no one else around could see easily. Printed upon the paper's surface was an image of a young girl, fifteen, possible even sixteen at the oldest in age, black and red hair, and greyish eyes, with black and red clothing. Rusty continued to eye the photo for a good long while before glancing back up to Davy. "What's the deal? A girl?"

"That's right…"

Shifting on the stool, Rusty huffed air through his nose, eyes narrowing at the photo, contemplating something. "So…What's the job then?"

Davy leaned down even further, his face only inches away from Rusty's. "It seems this little lassie has stepped on a few toes, if you get my meaning…"

Rusty shot a glare up to his partner. "If we're talking 'bout murder, you can count me out. I'll take my chips and go home. I ain't that kind of gun."

Shaking his head, the man continued. "That _was_ the original offer they sent my way. But no, they just want someone to keep tabs on her as much as possible, make sure she doesn't get in anyone's business that she shouldn't. She goes to that Beacon school. Trying to kill her there is damn near suicide. I hear those kids are crazy."

The young man shifted with a smirk, still eyeing the photograph. "I applied there you know. Does that make me crazy?" He looked at the bottom of the paper where a phone number was swiftly scribbled down. Rusty could only assume it was the contact from the job.

Chuckling, Davy leaned back a few inches. "You've always been a few gears short of a full train, Rusty." Continuing to shine the glass, Davy continued to speak. "With the sort of money they are offering from this job, you'll never have to work for years, Rusty. Come on. I'm just asking you to think about it. No one is getting hurt. No one is getting killed. Just a little bit of tracking, you know how to track right?"

Rusty looked up, folding the paper with his fingers, sliding it into his duster's inner chest pocket. "What's the catch then?"

Davy gave a faint nod in the direction toward the corner of the room. Still, the shadowed figure remained with his arms across over his chest. No words needed to be said.

"That much money being offered up, huh?" Rusty grumbled, shifting the sucker to his other cheek. The white stick stuck out of his mouth, sort of looking like a small cigar or cigarette.

Nodding, Davy whispered down again. "You'll have more trouble from other contenders for the job than the girl most likely." He pulled out a train ticket from his vest, motioning for Rusty to take it. "There is a train at the station, I advise you take it before that guy in the corner decides he wants to _relieve _you of your occupation."

Somewhat hesitantly, Rusty pulled the ticket from his friend's fingers, plunging it into his pocket. He now fully glanced back to the corner. The man in the shadows was gone, causing Rusty's heart to pick up a little as his eyes scanned the crowd in a feeble attempt to spot the figure.

"You best get moving, kid." Davy muttered, nodding his head toward the back door. "Go that way; it'll be a straight shot to the station."

Rusty slid off the stool and onto his boots, placing his hat back on his head. His spurs jingled at the sudden movement. He took a single step toward the back door before turning back to the counter. With an outstretched arm, Rusty nabbed the brown paper bag of candy right out from under Davy's nose. "I'm taking these."

Davy did nothing but laughed once. "Get moving."

Turning on his heel, Rusty began to walk briskly toward the back entrance of the saloon. It didn't take long for the young man to burst back into the sunlight of the desert town. Burning sunlight now beat down upon his rust colored duster. The old wooden buildings flanked him on both sides and across the street in front of him was the train station, the black train behind it, steaming and ready to go…

Rusty cocked his head off to the side. Footsteps from behind him.

Spitting out the candy into the dirt, Rusty pulled the red bandana up onto the bridge of his nose again. His left hand rolled up the brown sack of candy stuffing it into his coat as a distraction while his right hand reached for Iron Ace, the revolver on his hip. Rusty's fingers curled around the wood and metal handle, pulling it from its holster just as his left hand finished stashing his candy. With his weapon now secretly in front of him, the young man began to pull distinct red colored dust bullets from his belt. A flick of his wrist was all it took to make the gun's cylinder appear from the side. Rusty started pushing a single bullet into each slot, one by one until all six openings were full…

Even as Rusty's boots hit the wood of the station he could hear the man trailing him from behind. He pushed the cylinder back into place and pulled the revolver's hammer back, just in case…

A few more steps and Rusty met the train, lifting himself onto the stairs of the back-most car.

_Silence…_

Rusty whirled around as the footsteps behind him stopped. His rusted revolver was at the ready.

No one was there…

Still gripping his weapon in one hand, Rusty reached into his jacket and removed the ticket, reading it aloud to himself. _"Vale"_

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**A/N:**

**So, a RWBY Western, never thought you'd see the day, huh?**

**Anyway, this is my first FanFiction ever, so I hope you enjoyed my work! **

**Now, for a little bit about the story itself…**

**As you could probably guess, the story is going to pretty much focus entirely upon Yang and Rusty, the Original Character we met in the second section of the story. Needless to say, this story will probably not follow canon although I will try my hardest to keep it in line with the first season of RWBY and any that come next! (In a nutshell, this is an original storyline!) Unlike other stories, it might be a while before the duo actual come face to face in any fashion. Not that there is a problem with them meeting in the first chapter, I just figured for a long story that I hope to make this into that it'll be more worthwhile in the end. In addition, be very prepared for a lot of western movie references simply for the fun of it. Don't worry, I won't blatantly shove them in there, they will be more subtle. (There are a few in this chapter to be truthful, save for the **_**very**_** obvious one). If you can name them, you get an internet cookie.**

**Now to address the elephant in the room as people may be already thinking. Will a relationship develop between Yang and Rusty? I figured I'd address this off the bat by saying…**_**I'm not telling**_**…If it does or doesn't it'll be worthwhile and slow, meaningful whether it happens or not! All I can say is, you're in for one wild ride!**

**And in case you haven't figured it out already, Rusty's color is, of course, rust!**

**So, that's all for that. Please-Please-Please leave a review. I'd love to hear what you think!**


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